The Common Thread
by Christine Ruud
Summary: If Hawkeye Pierce learned one thing in his life, it would be never to get into relationships with people that he knew in Korea. Unfortunately, he learned it a little too late...
1. Prologue

**The Common Thread**

_**Prologue**_

_"Damnit, what do you mean it won't work out?"_

_Josephine Bigelow sighed and took Hawkeye Pierce's hand. "Hawk, you're sweet. You really are. But...but I can't deal with it."_

_"With what? Dad's snoring? I'll make him switch rooms!"_

_"No. Hawkeye, you're a great guy."_

_"Oh. A great guy. That's a reason to run out on me."_

_"This isn't easy."_

_"Yeah, and it's a breeze for me."_

_"Will you--will you shut up? This is why I'm leaving you! You can't deal with any isse without making a joke! I'm sick and tired of telling everyone that you aren't serious when you make some stupid remark." _

_"Then don't. The last time I checked you were my fiancee, not my caretaker."_

_"You'd better check again." Josephine stood up and stared out the window into the softly falling snow. "Because I'm not your fiancee."_

**A/N: The idea for this story came to me a few days ago and has been itching to get out. Pointing out the exceptionally obvious, Josephine Bigelow is Lieutenant Bigelow from the 4077th...I always like her and Hawk together. (From the above, you can't really tell that, I know...but I do.) **

_**For those of you who are wondering what the heck is going on with "Ten Minutes Equals A Lifetime," it's going! It's going! I promise! I'm off to work on chapter eight (I think that's where I'm at) right now. **_


	2. Chapter One

**The Common Thread**

_**Chapter One**_

Hawkeye Pierce shoved the door to his daughter's room open cautiously. "Anybody home?"

"Nrrrffff..."

"Good morning to you too. And how would you like your breakfast this morning, on your head or on your arm?"

Victoria Pierce sat up slowly. "Dad, you didn't have to bring me food."

"I guess I'm just that sort of great guy. Now eat. I don't think Campbell High accepts late arrivers."

"Darn-damn-darn-damn-darn!" Victoria kicked back the black and red quilt. "Mrs. Bartoletti's gonna _murder _me. She hates seniors. Yesterday Carolyn came in two--Dad, move. You're standing on my skirt."

Hawkeye stepped to the side. "Bartoletti? The one with the eyes that never focus and the hook nose?"

"Where are my nylons?"

"Scurry on, MacDuff." He tossed Victoria a pair of black stockings that were hanging on the lamp.

As Hawkeye left the room and Victoria started ripping her armoire apart in search of her purple sweater, a yawning Margaret Houlihan came out of the master bedroom. "She's up."

"And at 'em." Hawkeye caught the woman by the waist. "And how was your night?"

"Better." Margaret coughed. "I still can't shake this flu."

"Uh-huh. You know what that means."

"Hawk, I promise. I'll be fine."

"Even so, you're going back to bed."

Margaret sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. "You don't quit."

The two grinned at each other. Even though they'd both collected a few more gray hairs and wrinkles, they could be nominated for best-looking couple of the year, as Hawkeye had recently boasted to B.J. Hunnicutt over the phone.

"Okay," gasped Victoria, slamming the door to her room and cramming a piece of toast into her mouth. "I'm ready. How do I look? Where's my notebook?"

Margaret blew her nose. "You are your father's daughter."

Victoria shot a suspicious look at Margaret. "I hope I haven't been insulted."

"Don't worry. You haven't been." Margaret checked her watch. "You'd better hurry. I heard the bus was going to come earlier, in case the Fergusons hadn't shoveled their driveway and Hank had to wait an extra five minutes for the kids to get through the snow."

"What else could happen?" Victoria asked, throwing her hands up in the air, as if praying for time to stop. "_Ciao, _Dad. Oh, and by the way, some Jack Bertzwin called last night. He said he needed emergency surgery on his appendix."

"That's interesting, considering I took it out two years ago," said Hawkeye. "Now come on! Go!" He kissed her head. "Tip the bus driver and don't beat up Chuck Minsed."

Victoria winked and exited the house, taking the porch steps two at a time. The bus driver, who'd been impatiently waiting, yanked her on and pulled the door shut with such force that it caused a dent that he'd regret explaining to the principal.

**XXX**

Campbell Cove, Maine, was Crabapple Cove's sister town, and the two balanced each other out nicely. Crabapple Cove was home to the lobster festival, car dealership, elementary and middle school, Protestant church, grocery store, diner, and fire department. Campbell Cove had the bar, Ben Franklin, high school, police station, Catholic church, gas station, and the Crow's Roost Motel.

Campbell High was one of those schools where everyone knew everyone else. When Mr. Farmington and Miss Anverds were caught half-naked in the furance room, the news took only twenty-two and a half minutes to get from the basement to the third-floor art room.

Victoria usually liked the close-knit atmosphere, but not when she had on one black platform sandal and one brown high-heeled clog, like today.

"Nice shoes," commented Phyllis Morgan.

"Jealous?" Victoria grinned. "I knew you'd like them. I got them in Augusta when Dad had that medical thing last week."

Phyllis snorted. "Uh, Vic, darling, look down."

"What?"

"Look down."

Victoria did, and gasped. "No!"

"Yes."

"You're _kidding_!"

"No."

"You mean I'm really wearing two different shoes?"

"Yes."

"Ugh." Victoria opened her burnt-orange locker. "Oh, and it figures! I lent my extra pair of shoes to Jenna yesterday and she hasn't given them back."

"I never knew why you kept extras at school anyway. I mean, it's not as if we're in grade school and going out for recess," said Phyllis

"I like to be prepared," Victoria snapped.

"You're not now."

"Thanks for reminding me."

The P.A. system crackled and Mrs. Vermillion's squacked throughout the high school.

"Are we on?" she asked.

"What?" said Principal Davids.

"I don't know if this thing is on or not."

"Is the red light showing up?"

"I think so."

Principal Davids grunted. "New secretaries, may God help me." There was a shuffling and soon his voice became clearer. "We've been having a few issues with our bells-"

"I'm sorry, Principal, but I honestly didn't know what that lever did," Mrs. Vermillion began.

"-so homeroom will begin in approximately seven seconds."

"That ends the morning _Davids and Vermillion _routine, the hottest thing since _Abbott and Costello,_ brought to you by the makers of WriteRight School Supplies," Phyllis intoned.

"Come on, Lis, let's go," said Victoria. "We all know what a witch Bartoletti can be when we're late."

"Or when we're early," muttered Phyllis.

Once Campbell High's two hundred and twenty-nine students were in their homerooms, Principal Davids cleared his throat. "Good morning, students."

"He couldn't have said that before?" Phyllis muttered to Victoria, who rolled her eyes.

"We have some very exciting announcements today."

"Yeah, they cleaned out the shower drains the locker rooms," Victoria whispered.

"First," coughed Principal Davids, "all--freshme--my, I seem to have a bit of a frog in my throat today. Mrs. Vermillion, would you mind getting my coffee?" There was a clunk as the microphone was set down.

"Yes, sir...where is it?"

"On my desk."

"Oh...where?"

"On the stack of order forms for the new desks."

"Uh-huh...I can't seem to it."

"RIGHT THERE!"

"Oh, it's right there. Honestly, sir, don't have to yell."

Principal Davis's deep annoyed breathing was audible as he continued the announcements. "All freshmen, go to room three-forty-six for Composition."

"That doesn't concern you," Mrs. Bartoletti said from her desk.

"Really?" asked Cameron Phillips, who had been deemed the class's resident smart-aleck, which annoyed both Phyllis and Victoria. They considered themselves just as annoying and sarcastic as he was.

"A representative from the University of New Hampshire will be here from nine to eleven-thirty this morning," continued Principal Davis. "Talk to Mrs. Frenzlie in the office if you'd like to speak to him about possible enrollment. Seniors get first priority, followed by juniors, followed by sophomores, followed by freshmen."

"I think this guy was a kindergarten teacher in a former lifetime," Victoria murmured as she pulled out her copy of _The Scarlet Letter _and tried to concentrate on the introduction. "How far in this did we have to be in this for class today?"

"Page fifty-nine," Carolyn Green answered from behind Phyllis.

"Great."

"You sound like you're having a fun day," said Phyllis.

Victoria turned to face her. "You want to hear what I did this morning?"

"Sure. It ought to be more fun than the announcements."

"All right. First of all, I woke up-"

"Should I be taking notes?"

"No. Anyway, I woke up-"

"I heard that part already."

"Stop interrupting me! I woke up--yes, I know, you heard it already--I found out I was late, I got dressed really, really, really fast, I didn't get to eat hardly _anything_, then Fast Freddy almost slammed the bus door on me, and then I had two different shoes on, and then-"

"Miss Pierce?" Mrs. Baroletti interjected. "Would you care to speak up so the whole class may hear you?"

"No," said Victoria. "Thank you, though."

Phyllis snickered.

Principal Davis coughed. "All seniors in anatomy, report to room three hundred for sixth through eighth hour. Josephine Bigelow will be here to share her Korean War experiences with you. It is expected that you all be on your _best _behavior."

"_Best _behavior," repeated Mrs. Bartoletti.

"_Bad _behavior," Cameron said.

"Those of you who are in physical education," Principal Davis continued, "meet in the library during class today."

"They're weight-lifting with typewriters," said Tyler Finnegan.

"And now...with a total of sixteen pounds of dictionaries...'The Champ' Mullroy!" Bob Mullroy shouted.

"Hurdles with encyclopedias," added Rodney Compton.

"And with that, I conclude our morning announcements," Principal Davis said. "Oh! Yes, there is one more thing. All members of the Female's Sacred Choir, you have practice right after school. Bring your copies of 'Lead On, O King Eternal' and congregate in the music room."

"Very punny," Phyllis called to the speaker as the bell rang and the eight-nine seniors left the classroom.

"Josephine Bigelow," said Victoria, frowning. She leaned against the water fountain, squirting the cold liquid over the back of her sweater.

"Having a good day?" Phyllis asked.

"It just keeps getting better."

_**A.N: Wow. This is the longest chapter I've written since the beginning of Crash. How's the length? Do you want shorter or longer or about the same? I think I may be growing attached to longer ones...**_


	3. Chapter Two

**The Common Thread**

_Chapter Two_

Josephine Bigelow slammed the door to her black Studebaker and the mirror fell off.

She sighed, kicking the car. As far as the former lieutenant saw it, this day couldn't get any worse. She'd started her day off by falling out of bed, pulling the phone down with her.

That reminded her, she still had to call the telephone company to see how early they could be to her place to fix it.

Shaking her head, Josephine took a good look at Campbell High School. It looked like it came straight out of _Leave it to Beaver_.

"I'm going to go over like a lead balloon," muttered Josephine as she walked up the steps to the wooden double doors. She opened them with a grunt and wiped her feet on the rug that seemed to follow her to every high school she visited. What was the big deal, Josephine wondered, about a scratchy black piece of carpet with rubber on the back? Couldn't they have at least changed the color? Orange, maybe. Or blue. Or...

Red.

Not red, Josephine quickly decided. It made her think of blood.

And Hawkeye's robe.

Josephine leaned against the cold brick wall. This was _not _the time to remember her former lover.

Unfortunately, she couldn't stop the memories from invading her mind, which was supposed to be focused on describing the experiences at a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital to a group of horomone-infused seniors.

They'd both had the same stopover in Honolulu due to a windstorm, along with B.J. Hunnicutt, Mickey Baker, Julianne Lacey, Sherman Potter, Zelmo Zale, and Kellye Nakahara. Since Kellye lived in Hawaii, she invited the seven to stay at her house for the storm's duration.

Over a few vodkas, they'd talked...and danced...and danced more...

And then it was a blank.

_Something _must have happened, because Josephine and Hawkeye went back to Crabapple Cove together.

For a grand total of four and three-fourths months, they'd been like newlyweds. Hawkeye had proposed, she'd accepted, and they were living a life straight out of a Harlequin romance novel.

Then (and there's always a then), the other shoe dropped.

Hawkeye had been invited to the annual VFW Thanksgiving banquet in Augusta and he went, grudgingly. When asked to make a short speech, he stood up, cleared his throat, and began.

"I'm not a veteran. I was in Korea because I was forced to be. I was in charge of patching up wounded soldiers, most of which were ripped up beyond identification. If you want a hero to worship, go bow to a picture of MacArthur."

With that, he left the building. Josephine bid everyone a quick goodbye and followed him. They rode home in silence and spent a week and a half like that, until Josephine finally decided that she'd had enough. She left Crabapple Cove, but not before leaving Hawkeye a note.

_Hawk--_

_I'm pregnant. I'm due sometime in May. I'm sorry that it had to end like this but it did. We're not right for each other. At least our union produced one good thing--right?_

_Please, don't be bitter. You'll find someone that's right for you. It just wasn't me. We were a fling. (A good fling, apparently.) _

_--Josephine_

Josephine cursed her poor writing skills and left on the next bus to Chicago. She didn't know what Hawkeye did when he found her letter, but she imagined that he hadn't taken the news that well. She'd known him for long enough to understand that part of his personality.

On May twenty-first, at four thirty P.M., after a shockingly short labor, Josephine delivered her first daughter. She was blond and looked like no one on either the Pierce or Bigelow side, which Josephine took as a sign from the baby that she had nothing to do with the mess that had been created. Hawkeye came on the twenty-fourth and Josephine told him to take their daughter, that his enviornment for raising a child was better than hers.

_"Everyone in the town loves you. They'll love her. Your dad will love her."_

_"So you want me to deprive her of a mother?"_

_"No. I'll...I'll come and see her sometime...when she's older."_

_"What am I supposed to tell her? That you're a lamp genie in Arabia?"_

_"Who says you have to tell her anything?"_

_"Oh, just the little voice in the back of my head that's telling me that not having a mother isn't the best way to live a childhood."_

_"And how would you know?"_

That had been the wrong thing to say, because Hawkeye stalked off into the hallway and didn't return until noon the next day. While he was gone, Josephine went over the statement in her head. Finally, she realized how what she'd said had been insensitive, cold, and most of all, stupid. Hawkeye hadn't mentioned much about his growing up, but Josephine remembered him saying, in passing, that his mother had died when he was ten.

On the thirtieth, Josephine was released from the hospital. The moment the nurse pushed the wheelchair into an empty corridor, Josephine turned her head to face her.

_"This isn't my baby."_

_"It isn't?"_

_"No. It's...well, she's technically mine. But see, the man I'm with...she's really his. Please. Take her."_

_"You don't want her?"_

_"It's not that simple. Just...take her."_

_"I don't know if I'm able to do-"_

_"You are."_

And surprisingly, the nurse had. She wheeled Josephine out of the hospital, taken the girl, and hurried back inside, all without being noticed. When Hawkeye came in that afternoon, he'd taken the girl and went back to Maine.

Or at least that was what Josephine thought.

"Miss Bigelow?"

Josephine jumped. "Yes?"

The brown-haired secretary looked curiously at her. "You've been standing there for at least five minutes. May I get you a drink?"

"Alcoholic, if possible."

Surprisingly, the woman laughed. "According to today's schedule you're giving a lecture in half an hour. I don't think coming in half-crocked would be the best idea."

Josephine smiled. "Speaking of lectures, where am I giving mine?"

"Room three hundred. It's on the third floor next to the art room. Just follow the smell of paste."

"Thanks." Josephine grinned. "I don't think I caught your name."

"I'm Louisa Ferris. You know, we're so honored that you're here. It's not often that we get Korean War surgical nurse to speak to our students."

"Well, Mr. Breagan and I were in college together, and I figured it was the least I could do to come and-"

"MISS FERRIS!" came a shrill squak from the business office.

Louisa sighed. "Yes, Mrs. Vermillion?"

"THE TYPEWRITER JUST GOT JAMMED!"

"Coming," Louisa called. She turned back to Josephine. "I'm sorry, but I have to go deal with our resident airhead. Just ask me if you need anything. I'll be here."

"All right." Josephine headed down the hallway with "MATH, SCIENCE, TYPING, STAIRS" handwritten above it on a piece of cardboard. She shook her head as she marvelled at the simplicity of small-town America.

She didn't know what she was doing in Crabapple Cove.

No.

She didn't know what she was doing in Maine.

Pure curiousity had conviced her to come back. She wanted to see if Hawkeye was still the town's second-most-trusted doctor (Daniel Pierce being the first), and to see if her daughter had become someone other than "the poor little girl with no female influences in her life."

A door banged open and a blonde girl stormed out. "I don't believe this!" she cried. "After every damn thing that I did--they turn around and--DAMNIT!" She slammed her fist against a locker. She glared at Josephine. "And if you tell me to quiet down because there are classes going on, I may have to stuff you into one of these." She gave the locker a final slam.

"No, I wasn't going to tell you to do anything." Josephine shifted uncomfortably. "Um...can I do anything for you?"

"You can write a letter to James Mills Hamburton and tell him what a male chauvinist pig he is to only extend his medical scholarship out to males!"

"What?"

"I applied for this scholarship that could have possibly gotten me into Georgetown. I wrote an entire paper on the treatment of heart failures in a war zone."

"That must have been difficult," said Josephine absently, trying to figure out if she'd seen this girl before. She must have--she looked so familiar.

"Not really. My father was a doctor in Korea, so I had a first-rate reference right at home."

Josephine felt a chill run through her body. "Oh?"

The bell rang just then and the hallway became filled with high schoolers. Victoria sighed and looked over her shoulder. "I've gotta go find Phyl and tell her about this recent injustice. Nice shouting at you."

Before Josephine got time to say anything else, Victoria had joined the flood of students.


	4. Chapter Three

**The Common Thread**

_Chapter Three_

"Mrs. Wilmont just announced what the spring play's going to be," Phyllis said to Victoria as they walked into the science room.

"Mmm." Victoria opened her notebook.

"You'll never guess what it is."

"I bet I won't."

Phyllis folded her arms. "Come on, Vic. You're smart, you're talented, and you'll get into Georgetown even without that scholarship."

"Right. My father may be rich, but he's not _that _rich."

"You're quite humble, also."

"Thanks." Victoria sighed and sat down. "So what's the play?"

"_The Sound of Music_."

Victoria raised her eyebrows. "I thought we couldn't do that. Something about the royalties."

"Supposedly an anonymous donor paid what the school couldn't."

"Would the 'anonymous donor' be Amanda Biltman's father?"

"Bingo. The rumor is that if Amanda doesn't get the part of Maria, he'll stop payments on the check."

"Well, he's gonna have to, because you're gonna get that part."

"Why, thank you," Phyllis said in a cultured accent. "And now, I believe I'll summon my limousine to take me to journalism." She waved in perfect Queen Elizabeth style and strode off into the crowded hallway.

It was strange, Victoria thought, that she and Phyllis had become friends. Yes, they were both sarcastic and semi-annoying, but other than that, they were complete opposites. Phyllis was very active in all the fine arts--choir, drama, photography, and on and on and on. She'd once remarked that if it contained culture and a possibility of fame, she was in. Her prime goal was to be a Hollywood photographer--"after I finish being a brilliant director, that is."

Victoria, on the other hand, wasn't in anything that could be deemed extra-curricular. She was deeply involved with her studies and never wanted much of a social life. She wanted to be a doctor, preferably at Boston General.

So how had the two become friends?

The exact moment it happened couldn't really be determined. In tenth grade, they'd been assigned to work together on a math project about statistics. The assignment was to create a simple question (like "What came first, the chicken or the egg?"), ask fifty people the question, and present the statistics. They'd asked all the sophomores if they supported the United States's military presence in Vietnam. Fifty-nine percent supported it, thirty-eight percent were against it, and three percent were unsure (or didn't care either way). Their project proved to be the most provoking, and earned them a trip to the principal's office to explain that no, they weren't trying to be arrogant to the United States government. That incident proved that the two, different as they might have been, were obviously meant to be best friends.

"Hey! Vic!" shouted Mel Varden. "Catch!" He threw an eraser at her.

"Grow up." Victoria threw it back at him.

"Ooh, get a load of her. So high and mighty."

"Look, I'm trying to get ready to actually learn about something I'm going to use in life, and eraser throwing isn't it."

"Really?" interrupted Jake Smith. "I thought Georgetown had a course for that."

"Eraser Throwing for the Snobbish and Horse-Faced," added William Barrymore.

"Why are you three neanderthals in here anyway?" Victoria shot back. "I thought you'd be somewhere where you could congregate with your own kind."

"And where would that be?" Melvin asked.

"Oh, the science lab with the formeldyhyde frogs."

Jake snorted back a laugh and was rewarded with glares from Mel and William.

Mr. Breagan entered the room with a mighty cough. "Let's take our seats, folks. Now, before we begin, I'd like to ask you all if you remember the Korean War?"

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Mr. Breagan, given that none of us were _alive _at that time..."

"Witty," Cameron Phillips commented from the back of the room.

"Enough." Mr. Breagan coughed again. "Anyhow, today we have a guest speaker who was in that very war as a nurse at a mobile army surgical hospital, also called a MASH. Let's give a warm welcome to Miss Josephine Bigelow."

Half-hearted applause scattered throughout most of the class, except for Norman Chase, Cameron, and William, who climbed on top of their desks and roared their approval.

"Idiots," Victoria muttered. "One of them's going to-"

Clunk.

"-fall."

Norman let out a howl.

"Now this is exactly why I do not want people standing on the desks." Mr. Breagan crossed his arms. "I hope Mr. Chase has given you an accurate example why you are to follow that rule."

"THE SCHOOL SUPPLIES ARE TRYING TO KILL ME!"

Josephine poked her head into the room. "Is everything all right in here?"

"We've had a little accident," Mr. Breagan said.

She surveyed the damage. "I should say." Focusing on Norman, she asked, "Can you move?"

"Maybe." Norman pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I'm gonna sue the school."

"No you're not," said Mr. Breagan. "Now get back in your desk and give Miss Bigelow the respect she deserves."

"Yes sir," said Norman. He set his desk upright and crawled into it.

Victoria opened her notebook and settled back in her desk. The woman took her place behind the podium and began to speak, but Victoria didn't comprehend the words. All she could think of was how familiar the woman was. Had she seen her somewhere before? In a picture, maybe?

"When I was in Korea, stationed at a mobile army surgical hospital, I recieved some of the best training of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for how to handle soldiers with hunks of metal imbedded in their stomachs. It was, as one of our doctors so accurately put it, 'meatball surgery.'"

Victoria dropped her pen.

"Spastic much?" William muttered.

"Meatball surgery," Victoria repeated. She raised her hand. "Miss Bigelow?"

"Yes?"

"Which MASH unit were you stationed at?"

"The 4077th."

That was it. That's where Victoria had seen this woman. It had been in old photographs at her house. And...

Oh God.

An engagement announcement.

_A/N: So sorry for the delay on this, but things got hectic...and then there were finals (fun fun), and...aieeee. Please forgive me?_


	5. Chapter Four

**The Common Thread**

_Chapter Four_

"I hate our attic," Victoria said as she shoved the ladder back up into the ceiling. She'd spent the past two hours hunting for pictures and newspaper clippings of Josephine Bigelow. There was _nothing_. "Maybe I was just hallucinating."

"I happen to have that attic stocked with only the finest in grime."

Victoria jumped. "Dad! Where'd you come from?"

"The bathroom. Margaret's been harping on me to fix the sink so I decided I finally should."

"Oh. Good." Victoria nodded.

"Anything interesting happen in school today?" asked Hawkeye.

"Nothing worth mentioning," Victoria said. "We had a guest lecturer in anatomy...I didn't get the scholarship to Georgetown …just a typical hap-hap-happy day at Campbell High."

"What?" Hawkeye dropped the wrench he was holding. "You didn't get the scholarship?"

"Yeah." Victoria sighed. "It was only available to males, which my idiotic advisor didn't tell me until today."

"Wait. You were turned down because you're not six foot three and growing a mustache?"

"In blunt terms, yes."

"You're going to be a better doctor with one arm tied behind your back than most of those morons in your class, scholarship or not." Hawkeye patted his daughter on the back.

"Now you sound like Phyllis."

Downstairs, Margaret was lying down on the couch with a cold washcloth over her eyes. Her head had been throbbing since about noon, which was no surprise. Ever since Korea, her health had progressively worsened.

_One good thing about being married to a doctor, _she thought as she shifted uncomfortably, _is that it's not hard to come by medication._

"I'm going to sue that pompous ass, and then I'm going to sue that quack who teaches science."

"Can you do it a little quieter?" Margaret asked.

"Sorry." Hawkeye lowered his voice. "You are never going to believe what happened."

"That scholarship Victoria wanted isn't open for women."

"You're psychic when you get headaches."

Margaret shot Hawkeye an amused look. "She _told _me."

"When?"

"About the time she got home."

"Why?"

"Her exact words were 'I'm telling you first so you can keep Dad from flipping out when I tell him.'"

"Flipping out?" Hawkeye repeated. "What makes her think I'd do that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that not you who came down here wanting to sue half of Maine?"

"Not half. A fourth, tops."

"That's one thing I have to admire about you, Hawk," said Margaret. "You'd go through the state of Maine to get justice for Victoria."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

"No, no, no. Margaret, when you say 'nothing,' that means it's 'something,' so..." Hawkeye had a half-smile on his face as he waited for his wife to explain herself.

"It's just…you've got to let her fight her own battles. What are you going to do when her college applications get rejected?"

"What makes you think they will?"

"It's life. I know that she'll get into a good school and make a fabulous doctor, but there are always roadblocks." Margaret winced. "Do we have anything stronger than aspirin?"

"I'll go check." Hawkeye stood up and looked curiously at Margaret as he went into the kitchen.

**XXX**

"Nothing. Why is there _nothing _here?" Victoria slammed the cedar chest in the guest room shut. "I _know _that I've seen that woman before."

It was useless, she decided. She could never figure out how her father organized things, and this was no exception.

The phone rang, Margaret moaned, and Hawkeye swore at the sink. Victoria shook her head and loped out into the hallway to get it. "Hello?"

"Hi," chirped Phyllis. "How's your trig going?"

"I'm not in trig, Phyl. Frankly, I don't know why you are either. Wasn't your last English assignment numbered 'one, three, five, six, nine'?"

"Honest mistake."

"I'll bet." Victoria twirled the orange phone cord around her wrist.

"It—Chad, you little worm! My stupid little brother just threw his cereal halfway across the kitchen. You are so lucky to be sibling-less."

"I've got a feeling that Margaret would kill anyone who threw anything across anywhere. She's got a headache again today."

"Surprise, surprise."

Victoria could practically see Phyllis rolling her eyes. She'd never liked Margaret to begin with and ever since the past year, when the former Major's health had really gone downhill, Phyllis had stayed far away from the Pierce household.

"I almost didn't call," Phyllis continued, "but I wanted to ask how that guest lecturer was."

"She was good. It was..."

"What? It was what?"

"Never mind."

"I _know _you were going to say something."

"It was interesting how idiotic Norman is. That's what I was going to say? Happy now?" Victoria asked, slightly frustrated. "Look, I've gotta go. See you later."

She hung up the phone and sighed. Maybe she had been hallucinating.

_A/N: Finally, an update! This chapter is a little bit of a cooling-off one, so Victoria can process what she's seen and so we can get a little Hawk/Margaret interplay. I hope you enjoyed it!_


End file.
